The Ones Who Cared The Least
by IndigoElle
Summary: Saviors come in different forms and beings. When Tim is in desperate need of help, it is those who he never expected that come to his aid.
1. Chapter 1

**This would not leave my mind and would not leave me alone until I wrote it down. Mainly some Tim angst mixed with brotherly feelings. Maybe I'll add to this if wished. Let me know what you think!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.**

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><p>When his body hit the water, it was more like hitting cement.<p>

That was possibly the drugs that he'd inhaled making him feel that way, but the air was knocked out of Tim's lungs nonetheless. He sank down in the tank, trying but failing to move his limbs quick enough. They would not propel him to swim, to get to the surface.

_I'm paralyzed,_ logic told him. _Paralyzed by fear._

_I'm dying, _fear said louder._ Dying is a hero's fate._

His mask was waterproof, and so he could see Scarecrow's form laughing. It was hard for Tim to think straight, but he could recall chasing the criminal through the aquarium where he had been spreading his toxins to the animals. Tim thought he had a handle on the situation, until Scarecrow caught him off guard and he'd breathed in the new poison. He'd fallen then…hadn't he? Off the balcony, no, he'd crashed through it, falling from the floor above into the tank.

At least he thought that was what had happened.

It was hard to tell with the drugs coursing through his system. His body felt like lead, and he sank further, agonizingly slow. Scarecrow flashed out of sight, or maybe he'd run away earlier and Tim's brain was just catching up with the movement. The criminal was gone though, that was for sure. All the fish in the tank retreated to the corners, keeping far from his body. Tim wasn't sure whether he was holding his breath or breathing in water.

He couldn't even feel adrenaline anymore; he was numb. Tim's outstretched arm was able to reach the glass and he pressed his hand against it. Of course it didn't budge, and he floated away from the barrier that separated him from the outside. Further and further he sank, his vision darkening. _And the worst part is that no one cares._

Because who really would come? Not Bruce, not Dick; they were off on their own missions. Tim was no longer Robin, so he didn't matter; his purpose was gone. Dick was the one that got rid of him anyways; he wasn't good enough. He'd failed. No matter what freedom Red Robin had given him, it all came down to Tim not being a good enough partner.

Was this the drugs talking or him?

The fish flashed around him, in one spot in one moment and in another position three seconds later. They jumped around like a skipping record, his brain unable to keep up with the movement. His eyes started to close as darkness closed up around him like a void. Just before they shut he thought he saw blazing blue eyes on the other side of the glass and thought that Dick was there.

But Dick's eyes had never looked that angry.

His hearing was fading out, yet he thought he heard something hit the glass. What was that sound that came after?

Cracking?

No.

_Shattering._

Like a dam exploding, Tim was thrown out with the current, spilling onto the floor as the water rushed over him. Glass stuck into his uniform, the torrent of water shoving him into the tile. Blackness overtook him, and then in the next instant when he was more or half away he could feel himself coughing up the water that had entered his lungs, curling up on his side. His hands clawed at the floor, trying to grasp onto something, but he couldn't.

"Dammit," a gruff voice said, their form leaning over the teen. "What are you doing here, Replacement?"

_Jason_, Tim thought, but the word wouldn't leave his mouth. He couldn't speak; could only cough and gasp and jerk whenever he tried to move. The man wasn't dressed as the Red Hood, but as a civilian. It wasn't surprising that he still had his guns on him though, which he was putting back inside his jacket. Those were the angry eyes that Tim had seen, but they didn't seem angry now; at least not at him. Jason put a hand on his shoulder, gripping it so tightly that Tim was sure he'd still bruise despite protection from his uniform.

"Chasing after Scarecrow, I assume," a young voice replied, and the person it belonged to came and stood by Tim's head. "Father said he dropped off the radar for a while."

"Fantastic," Jason drawled sarcastically, turning Tim onto his back. "C'mon kid. What's wrong?"

While the older man checked him for external injuries, Tim couldn't reply; his body trembling like it was trying to repel the toxin. His breath came hitched as his chest tightened; it didn't occur to him that the drug could reach his heart so quickly, if that was what was happening. Logic was fleeing him every second; fingers twitching and grasping a weak hold around Jason's wrist. In response Jason looked up, and simultaneously ripped Tim's mask off. If he had been in his right mind the teen would have been shocked, but all he could do was try to stop himself from shaking. Jason pulled him into his arms, searching Tim's face for some kind of answer. "What the hell did he do to you?"

"He's paralyzed," Damian said, and Tim was convinced it was the drugs in him that made it sound like Damian was actually concerned. "Or rather becoming paralyzed. Scarecrow has tested it on multiple civilians. I can't believe the leader of the drug cartel doesn't know _that._"

"Shut up and fix it," Jason growled. The grip he'd had on Jason's wrist went slack as he lost feeling in his fingers completely. He thought his body jerked, was only half sure that he heard a gasping noise leave his lips; was there any breath left in him?

Damian crouched down, his hand falling to Tim's shoulder. "I can't do anything here; Father has the antidote. It is not fully developed either."

"We just need something," the older man insisted, and whatever else Jason said went silent in Tim's ears. He could hear nothing; Jason's lips were moving but no sound came out.

Jason shook him, as if to jar him out of his state. He looked afraid; Tim didn't understand why; he didn't really understand why suddenly he was seeing two blurry Jasons either. Bits and pieces of what he was saying made it through to his mind. "Stay awake…fix this…Tim."

"_Tim!_"

The tide of darkness overtook him and he drowned in it.

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><p>"What is taking so long?" Jason's complaint sounded more like a threat to Tim as he woke up. His eyes were closed, but his hearing was back and allowed him to listen in on whatever was happening.<p>

"It's a counteractive drug, Todd," Damian said, as if tired of explaining. "He'll wake up when it kicks in if the fool is strong enough to survive."

Jason growled something in response, but didn't yell at the boy for insulting him. In Jason's mind he had done far worse to the Batfamily, and so he wasn't going to be a hypocrite and correct Damian. That was what Tim had come to understand, at least. He pushed the thoughts away and focused on his surroundings. There was something soft underneath him, a blanket around his waist. There was a weight on the mattress—he guessed it was a mattress.

He tried to move his fingers and found that they twitched. Daring to crack open his eyes, he found himself in a room that was all too familiar; his room at Wayne Manor. But what was unfamiliar was the fact that Damian was sitting on the edge of his bed, and standing by the window with his arms crossed was Jason. Tim wondered if he was hallucinating, possibly dreaming. He tried to sit up, and it caught Damian's attention who warned, "I wouldn't try that, Drake."

Too late, Tim was already propping himself on his arms. It barely lasted five seconds and his limbs gave out, and the teen fell back against the pillows. His muscles were like rubber, unable to hold his weight. Damian rolled his eyes, "Are you still deaf?"

"No," Tim said, and his voice came out thin and scratchy. It felt like he'd swallowed acid and his vocal chords were eroded.

Jason came over and picked a glass up off the bedside table and thrust it out towards Tim, his gaze hard. "Drink it. And don't tell me no or I'll force it down your throat."

If the threat had come from Dick then he would have taken his chances. Tim wasn't about to do that with the second former Robin and did as told, drinking from the glass. The water was soothing, and he cleared his throat afterwards and mumbled a thank you. Jason raised an eyebrow but said nothing in response, and an awkward silence came over the three. Tim finally said, "Um…thanks."

"Did you think I was just going to leave you there to die?" Jason questioned, and at Tim's silence he glared, in half offense, "I wasn't!"

"Neither was I," Damian chimed in, like he didn't want to be forgotten. Then, as if realizing how eager he sounded, turned his head. "Tt. I had no choice but to save you. Father would be displeased if I hadn't."

"Right," Tim said, actually having to repress a small smile. Something clicked in his head and he started to sit up again, "Scarecrow!"

Jason clamped a firm hand on his shoulder, forcing him back down. "Forget about him. We let Bruce know."

"The toxin is going to take a long time to leave your system," Damian said, like a know it all. "That isn't even a complete antidote. If you have any intelligence at all, Drake, you won't strain yourself."

"And if I choose not to listen?" Tim raised an eyebrow, not amused. The idea of being taken off duty by a child didn't appeal to the teen. Besides, he didn't have to listen to anyone; he was his own hero now.

"Then I will have no choice but to take forceful action," Damian replied, smirking. "Todd and I have already agreed on it."

"I took his weapons," Jason added, "just to be safe. And I set my guns aside so don't look at me like that. I know I'm not one to talk."

Tim looked between the two, gaze lingering on each of them for a moment. It seemed completely crazy that the people who had saved him were the most unlikely of their family to do so. And they were standing in his room, promising that if he tried to get out of bed they were going to force him to rest. Never in a million years had Tim ever expected any treatment like this. At a loss for words he finally asked simply, "Why?"

They didn't answer and Tim continued, looking to Jason, "There isn't any reason for you to help me. We've gone our separate ways, we fight for different reasons."

He looked to Damian, "And _you_…well you hate me. I don't see why you had any interest in saving my life."

Silence continued. Tim didn't think that he was going to get an actual answer, but Jason let out a half sigh, half frustrated growl and shook his head. "For being so smart, Replacement, you're really being an idiot. Because in some twisted way, we all really don't hate each other. We're just complicated and…"

There was a pause, and Jason rolled his eyes and said, "Hell, we _care_ about you, alright? And don't think I'm repeating that."

Damian scoffed, "Do not expect me to say it…but Todd has a point."

Tim was stunned into silence. He'd never thought that he'd had a very strong relationship between these two brothers; what with Jason attempting to murder him multiple times and Damian…well Damian was guilty of the same thing. Sure, Jason was trying to be a better person, but he'd never seen this coming. And apparently he'd missed Damian's change of heart, or there really was sympathy underneath the hard pressed viciousness he possessed.

The teen leaned back into the pillows more. "This is not how I was expecting my night to go."

Damian scowled, leaping off the bed in annoyance. "We didn't have to save your life, Drake. Be a little grateful."

"That's not what I meant." Tim answered, blinking away tiredness. "I mean that I really needed help…and I'm glad that it was you two that came. For a while…"

It felt stupid to say, and so Tim shut his mouth. But Jason spoke up, staring at him critically. "You felt like no one cared. Think I haven't noticed?"

Damian shook his head, "Todd suggested we make sure that you were alright. He's becoming as bad as Grayson."

The older man scoffed and mumbled under his breath, and Tim just weakly smiled at the two of them. Maybe it hadn't been coincidence that they had found him that night, and he liked it better that way. Somehow being cared about by the two least affectionate members of their cracked up family made Tim feel better, a lot better than he had in a long time; it took the edge off his heart.

Footsteps could be heard coming from down the hall; fast paced; two pairs. Tim's expression seemed to grow more tired; he didn't want to deal with the commotion. Jason said to him, "Go to sleep. We'll keep them out of your business for a while."

"No weapons," Tim muttered sleepily. "Keep it civil."

Jason grunted in disapproval, "Always gotta make things harder on me."

"That is the basis of Drake's existence," Damian said, but this time his comment was without snarky tone. It almost sounded affectionate.

Tim smiled as he fell asleep, heard the two walk out the door.

They would be his guards, and Tim could not feel safer.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So I've decided that instead of posting a follow up to the first part I'd just add another chapter. These are meant to be a bunch of oneshots, and I don't know how often I'll update them. But whenever I have something that goes along with this story line I'll be sure to post it here. :)**

**Please let me know what you think!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.**

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><p>No matter how fast he ran, no matter how far, Tim knew that they were going to reach him.<p>

The hands grabbed at his cape, clenching their broken fingers around his arms and legs. He stumbled and gritted his teeth, adrenaline flowing like a pipeline through his veins. Their angry calls filled his ears; they were angry because he had stopped their plans, these criminals. As a hero he had jailed them, sent them to the mercy of the courts, and had continued on with his life while they rotted away in prison cells. Not once had Tim considered the consequences of his actions and now he was being threatened by all the horror he'd fought against.

Faster he ran and heard the ripping of his cape as it was torn from his costume. The hands pulled and pulled, tearing the material off of him; his pants, boots, and shirt. They grabbed at his mask and yanked it off, and suddenly he was not Robin, nor was he Red Robin. He was Tim running into a familiar house and through familiar halls to get to a familiar person. But deep down he knew that once he made it to the oh-so-recognizable room that the sight before him wouldn't be.

He would be too late to stop it.

And yet he kept going, convinced that he was going to make it, that _he could stop this from happening. _Tim believed it as he burst through the door, believed it even when the blood on the floor caused him to slip, even when he fell onto his hands and knees and they were covered in the slick red substance. He kept hoping, kept having faith in the idea that if he stretched out his arm, if he could rip the weapon out, he'd save what he couldn't before.

He believed it until he set his eyes on his father's face.

Those blank eyes, the motionless body, told him all that he needed to know; it was too late. Hopeless.

The floor fell open under him and Tim plunged, slamming into water so cold that it seemed to freeze him on impact. All the bones in his body felt as if they had cracked, and his lungs filled with the ice that made him sink further. Gasping and choking, the current only dragged him under, not muffling the sounds of yelling criminals and his father's voice. The darkness came, forcing him into the void of nothingness.

His yell was what jolted him awake and he would have shot straight up in bed, but he couldn't move. He was too weak, and the panic made him feel as if motion was completely impossible. Tim's heart was hammering hard in his chest, his breath erratic. Sweat clung to him, to his face and body, making his T shirt stick to him and giving Tim the impression that he was suffocating. As much as he could he curled up, hands grasping at his chest as he brought his head towards his knees.

And then he was being lifted and held in a pair of strong arms and his mind immediately thought of Bruce, that it was his mentor and father figure coming to save him again. But then he inhaled the scent of cigarette smoke, and heard the voice of someone that was definitely not Bruce. "Tim. Tim _relax._ You're alright."

But he wasn't alright. Tim was sure that Jason knew that, but that was how the man was. He'd always tried to say something that wasn't entirely true in hopes that it would still act as a calming effect. Much to Tim's surprise it started to work; clinging to Jason's shirt also helped as he forced himself to breathe. Jason rubbed his back, a little awkwardly, but the longer that he did the easier it seemed to become. He said, "You're not dying, trust me. I would know."

The attempt at humor didn't do much. Tim didn't really know he was talking when he said, "I can't move."

"Yes you can," Jason replied, and when the teen looked up at him he was met with his older brother's look of don't-be-an-idiot. "You're just panicking."

Tim knew he was right. If he had the strength to move he would have pushed Jason away, but there was no getting out of his grasp unless the older man released him. Jason instructed him, "Reach your arm out."

Tentatively, Tim stretched, his arm extending as if he were trying to reach for the door on the other side of the room. His arm shook with weakness, but he was able to wiggle his fingers and clench his hand into a fist. Seeing that he could do so made him relax and he brought his arm into his lap. The teen took a shaky breath, aware that his voice was trembling as much as his body. "I thought you left."

That was the impression Tim had gotten when his older brother hadn't returned to his room. It was easier to deny that he had any hurt feelings than to accept that he was disappointed Jason hadn't stayed. Jason seemed to grow sheepish, and then mumbled, "I decided…that I'd stay for a while. At least until you're back on your feet."

Which, everyone knew, would be a long time. The drug had taken a great toll on Tim, and though Bruce had a cure for the paralysis it didn't help with the long term effects. Red Robin was off patrol for a while; Tim still couldn't even sit up yet let alone walk. So that fact that Jason was willing to stay in the Manor for that lengthy of a time almost startled Tim. Instead, it made him feel happy and a tiny sense of pride that he was able to keep his brother home for the time being. "Didn't know that you were so worried about me."

At that Jason made a scoffing sound, "Don't think it has to do with this. I need a new place to stay and I'm not sleeping on the streets when there is a perfectly good bed here."

Tim had to fight to keep himself from smiling; they'd been trying to tell Jason that for ages and he'd always preferred the streets to the Manor. "Whatever you say, Jason."

The older man rolled his eyes and helped him lay down. He straightened out his leather jacket, paused in hesitation, and then asked carefully, "So…nightmare I'm guessing. Want to talk about it?"

"No," Tim answered as soon as he finished his sentence. The thought of having to describe what he'd seen was enough to make him want to pull the blankets over his head and cry. But he wasn't about to shed tears around Jason; then he'd really look pathetic.

"Right," Jason answered, rubbing the back of his neck. An awkward silence fell over the two of them, neither knowing what to say. Tim looked to his hands, Jason glanced around the room; finally Jason said, "I'm not good at the whole 'comforting' thing."

Tim shrugged as much as he could, "You could go if it bothers you."

"I'm not bothered, idiot," Jason hissed, and then took a deep breath and composed himself. "I'm just no good at it. Dick is the one that handles this kind of stuff. I'm used to being the one that mopes around and denies help from everyone."

"Congrats," Tim said with half a grin, "you're improving."

"Yeah yeah," Jason answered, looking to the side. He was so embarrassed that Tim couldn't help but start laughing, even when his older brother shot him an angry look.

There was the sound of the door swinging open and then closing rather hard. A glaring Damian appeared in the doorway, his hair sticking up in all directions. "Would you fools silence yourselves?"

"Sorry for disturbing your slumber, Prince of Gotham," Jason replied sarcastically, ignoring the sharp look that Damian gave him.

The younger boy huffed, "I would not be awake if it wasn't for Drake's screaming."

His comment seemed to drain Tim of any lightheartedness that had formed. He slumped back against the pillows, his eyes downcast as the images of his nightmare played over once more in his mind. If he focused long enough he was positive that he could still feel the cold seeping into his bones. The thought forced him to hold back a shudder. Tim muttered softly, "Sorry…"

The scowl on Damian's face melted away, as if he realized what he had said. True, he didn't often think before he spoke, but it was strange to see that Damian hadn't meant to strike that nerve. Guilt flashed in the child's eyes, something that was not present much. Tim decided not to question it; watching as his brother's resolve hardened. His scowl was replaced by him standing tall and declaring, "It made me realize that we should…enjoy each other's company for the night."

Jason arched an eyebrow, "_You _want to stay in the same room as either of us for hours? _Willingly?_"

"You're one to talk, Todd," Damian shot back and then strode over to the bed and climbed onto it. Tim couldn't help but notice how small he looked as he sat there. The ten year old sat on the edge for a moment, and then moved over to sit next to Tim. "Funny how trauma unites even the most stubborn of our family."

"I am not traumatized," Tim insisted. He was touched that Damian actually was showing that he cared. Maybe he should have gotten hurt sooner.

The younger boy ignored him and settled back against the pillows with his arms crossed, shutting his eyes. "Do not ruin the moment, Drake. This will not happen again."

Beside the bed Jason smirked, and affectionately ruffled Tim's hair. "Go to sleep. We're right here, kid."

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><p>Tim awoke peacefully the next time, when dawn was barely breaking the sky. At first he wasn't aware of his surroundings, yet as he became more awake he noticed the weight on his chest. He almost jumped in surprise when he saw that Damian had chosen to use his chest as a pillow. The dangerous child was curled into his side, though he'd stolen a good portion of Tim's blankets for himself. Not that Tim cared; the room was warm enough for him.<p>

At the bedside was Jason, his head resting on the bed as he slept, one arm draped on the mattress. It seemed to Tim that he had been trying to stay up but succumbed to exhaustion at some point. The teen looked between both of his brothers, a tired smile coming onto his face. They had actually stayed throughout the night for him. Not by their father's orders or by Dick's insistence, but by their own choice. It was the best feeling that he'd had in a long time.

Carefully Tim reached up and patted Damian's hair, and affectionate gesture that he did not dare to try while the boy was awake; he needed his hand. The boy's tired mumble caught him off guard, but he refrained from showing he was startled. Damian said, eyes still closed, "Don't say a word, Drake."

Tim smiled at him and said nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Yay for inspiration! Sorry if the ending isn't the best, I wasn't sure how to close this off. Please let me know what you think!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.**

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><p>Jason had tried not to be annoyed.<p>

When he'd abandoned his apartment, he came with full intent to the manor to help Tim get back on his feet. Almost drowning wasn't a pleasant experience; the boy was traumatized by it for sure. So he was okay, at first, with Tim wanting space. Jason understood that he didn't want to talk about the nightmares, or discuss what had happened. It made sense to want to rest and deal with his predicament his own way. So he had allowed Tim to do so, and had been fine with the arrangement, expecting the teen to open up sooner or later.

Then he started to send people out of his room. No one was allowed to spend the night to watch him. He barely spoke and didn't bother ask if he needed something. All the teen would do was search on his laptop in bed for hours, refusing to respond to anyone who interrupted him. There were instances where he'd fall asleep while typing, and Jason would have to turn it off or risk it getting accidentally thrown if Tim were to jump awake.

Jason had let it go the first week.

He'd mentioned about it the second week.

By the third he was ready to smash the computer on the floor and shake some sort of conversation out of Tim. But that wouldn't be very helpful to his self esteem, so Jason chose instead to vent his frustrations in the cave to whatever training equipment he could get his hands on. He'd hit his fists into a punching bag until he was tired to the bone and all anger dispelled from his conscience. Though as soon as he'd go back upstairs to check on Tim, the sight of the teen in the same exact position that he had been in an hour or two before would bring back the frustration Jason had tried to get rid of.

Patience running thin, he stood outside Tim's door and took a deep breath. His straightforward approach hadn't been working on the teen. Maybe he could try and take Dick's approach to the situation; nothing failed when the Golden Boy attempted to fix a problem. Jason tried to smile wide, but if felt wrong and made his face hurt. The idea was dismissed; there was no way he could be as cheerful as Dick. Jason Todd didn't _do _cheerful.

_C'mon, Jay. He's just an angst-filled hormonal teenager_, he thought to himself, shoving his hands into his pockets. _You can handle this._

Curiously he pressed his ear to the door, listening for any sound. There wasn't anything suspicious or loud enough for him to detect; not even the typing of keys from the laptop could be heard. Jason frowned a little and pulled back, staring once more at the only obstacle between Tim and him. Why did he feel so intimidated when he was the older one? This wasn't like charging into a hideout and having to dodge a dozen bullets, or falling into the middle of a gang war. It was nothing.

A piece of cake; simple; a straight shot.

Jason still couldn't move.

He might as well have been the one that had gotten paralyzed. The longer he stood there the more he could feel the annoyance coming to the front of his mind, pestering him.

"I'm the freakin' Red Hood, dammit," he muttered, grinding on his teeth. Why did he doubt himself? He could handle a smart aleck teen; no problem.

Taking his hands from his pockets, he grabbed a hold of the door handle and swung the door open, striding inside. He'd expected to see Tim buried under ten blankets and hiding his face from the world. What Jason had imagined himself doing was yanking the curtains open and making the teen get up from under the rock he'd been living under lately. Instead he was met with the surprising sight of Tim sitting up and trying to pull on a clean T-shirt. Jason suspected that with his very slim amount of strength it was a hard feat to accomplish.

"You could have called for someone," Jason pointed out and went over to Tim. "We respond to bloodcurdling screams pretty fast."

"I don't need help," Tim said, his voice clipped.

It caused Jason to stop, his eyes narrowing in aggravation. "What I'm seeing debunks your theory, kid."

"I thought I told everyone to leave me alone," Tim answered, and the anger seemed to give him a burst of strength; enough to pull his shirt on before he had to settle back against the pillows.

"Let me give you a tip," Jason replied, his voice tight. "When your family gives a damn to help you out, take them up on the offer. Or else you'll end up a crazed anti-hero that takes pleasure in pulling the trigger against your father's rules."

"I'm not like you," Tim answered, his glare so sharp that Jason thought it was going to cut into him.

That snapped him, and Jason clenched his hands into fists before pointing at the teen. "What is your problem? We've only done our best—_I've_ been trying to help you and this is the response I get?"

Silently Tim glared at him, and then swung his feet to the floor. Jason didn't bother to assist him as Tim carefully got to his feet, fully intent on storming out of the room for sure. The teen grabbed a hold of the nightstand, leaning heavily into the wall. There was a spark of intensity in his eyes, and Jason could see his muscles straining to keep him up. Jason grit his teeth, staying locked where he was and not bothering to move. Tim pushed off the wall, taking a few steps forwards.

It didn't last long. His legs gave out from under him and Jason darted forwards and caught the boy before he could hit the ground. The most enraged, frustrated sound he'd ever heard filled his ears; Jason was shocked to find that it was Tim who had made it. The teen shoved himself away from the older man, collapsing back against the bed. His head was bowed, but Jason could still see the intense anger that shined in his blue irises.

"You're too weak," Jason said, and he didn't mean it as an insult.

But Tim seemed to have taken it that way. His head shot up and he yelled, "Shut up! I don't need to hear it from you!"

"Why?" Jason challenged, tossing his hands into the air. "I'm just trying—"

"Well stop," Tim said, his hands gripping the blanket underneath him. He suddenly took a deep breath, and his voice came in such a harsh whisper that it just begged for Jason's attention. "Look at me, Jason. I'm pathetic. If this were you or Dick, hell if this were Damian, any of you would be back on your feet by now. I can't even take more than a couple steps on my own."

"Tim," Jason said, and shook his head. "You were victim to an experimental drug that no one knows the effects of. No one is going to bounce back from that; even me with my amazing track record."

The teen stared at him, his anxiety filled expression wavering slightly, "So I'm not an embarrassment?"

"What?" Jason looked at him, his anger draining and filling him with confusion instead. "Tim, everyone gets hurt. We're not going to persecute you for it."

Tim exhaled, nodding a little. "Sorry…I've just…"

Without thinking about it, Jason put a hand on his shoulder. "You aren't letting anyone down. Just rest up and get well, then go out there and kick some Red Robin ass."

A small smile came onto Tim's face, "I'll try to manage that."

"Good," Jason answered, and then added, "And one more thing."

"What's that?" Tim asked, tipping his head to the side.

Jason smirked, "I'm the depressing one. Lighten up."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I wanted to do something centered between Damian and Tim, since Jason had his individual experience already. I hope you all enjoy this; it was nice to update after so long :) Please let me know what you think!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.**

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><p>"For the last time, Damian, no!" Drake said, his expression the definition of annoyance.<p>

Damian crossed his arms, staring firmly at his brother. "This conversation is not over until I deem it, Drake! And you will agree with me or I'll take matters into my own hands."

From his spot on the couch, Drake sniffed, rolling his eyes. A blanket was wrapped around him, obscuring his body from the waist down. Behind his back pillows had been stuffed there, so he was able to sit up. Somehow Todd had convinced the stubborn boy that if he didn't come out of his room he would suffocate from the stale air. The blank walls and never changing surroundings were probably not helping his will to recover either. When Drake had finally agreed to come downstairs, Todd had brought him down himself.

Weeks had passed, but Drake still couldn't walk. Not to the standards that he wished at least; Damian had watched him take at least four steps before his legs gave out beneath him. The young Robin was becoming sick of watching him lie around and wallow in self-deprecation. It had gotten to the point where Drake didn't even try anymore, and Damian had had enough of it. Past was the moment of pity; it was time for Drake to move on. And if nobody else in his family was going to make him, well Damian would just have to be the one to do so.

"You have five seconds to get up, or so help me I will drag your motionless corpse across the floor myself!" _Well, perhaps not his corpse_, Damian considered. Killing his brother would defeat the entire purpose of this. And that would be too easy of a battle to win with Drake immobilized. That battle would be saved for another day.

Drake looked exasperated, and sounded it to. "Have you not been paying attention at all lately? I. Can't. _Walk._"

A moment of silence passed and then Damian let out a sigh. His brother was an absolute fool. "Remember that I benefit nothing from this. This is all on you."

And with that he grabbed Drake by his collar and yanked him off the couch. The blanket tangled around his legs and Drake hit the ground with a yelp. If that was his way of trying to discourage Damian, it didn't work. The current Robin grabbed the back of his brother's shirt by the collar and dragged him across the floor and out of the living room. All the while the older boy yelled angrily, "Damian! Let go of me you little brat!"

"If you want me to, then make me," Damian said simply and continued to drag his brother across the floor. From the corner of his eye he could see Drake flailing as much as he could, attempting to reach up and grab a hold of Damian's arm. But he couldn't, and there was no one home to stop the youngest boy from doing this, save for Pennyworth. The butler was nowhere to be seen, probably more out of choice than of coincidence.

He'd have to thank Pennyworth later for allowing him to do what he needed, but for now his focus was on the angst-driven teen in his grasp. He continued to scream as Damian walked through the manor with him, yelling obscenities that almost rivaled Jason's vocabulary. It was Damian's turn to roll his eyes as he shoved the door to the cave open, and then tossed the boy in. His yelling turned from angry to surprised, and Damian watched as he came to a rolling stop on one of the stairs. The teen peered down at the rest of the staircase with wide eyes, and then looked to Damian with a glare. "What the hell are you doing?"

"You will not walk because you think you can't," Damian said, walking casually down the stairs until he was only two above where Drake lay. "But it is not solely the fact that you are physically incapable. Most of it at this point is because you foolishly do not have the will to try."

"All I want is to be able to be independent again!" Drake shot back, forcing himself onto his elbows. "But I can't be!"

Damian sent him an icy glare that shut Drake up, surprisingly. His voice was just as cold, "Do you have any idea what would have happened to me if I told my mother that I couldn't do what she wanted me to? I would have been punished severely, yet you are allowed to lie around and pity your unfortunate soul. Get up, Drake! If you do not try, you will never succeed!"

"But what if—" Drake started, but Damian quickly cut him off.

"If you make a mistake? If you fall? That does not matter. There will be obstacles to overcome, but the fear of them cannot stop you." Damian shook his head, "I am embarrassed to have to live under the same roof as someone who has a desire but is too afraid to gain it."

Maybe it wouldn't matter to Drake that he was embarrassed, but something in his words must have struck a chord. Slowly, the older boy reached up and grabbed a hold of the railing and hauled himself into a standing position. He looked to Damian, and the younger boy walked down a few steps and turned to face his older brother. For a long moment Drake stood there, muscles shaking. Then he took a step, still holding onto the rail.

He didn't fall, and so he took another, and then stepped down onto the next stair. Damian watched, noticing how he heavily leaned against the rail, how his feet were slipping, but said nothing about it. Drake moved again and slipped, and his grip on the railing went slack. He fell to his knees with little more than a grunt of surprise. Seconds passed, and then he hesitantly raised his head to his brother. Damian told him, "What? Do you think I'm going to treat you like an infant? Get up."

Drake nodded and pulled himself up, beads of sweat starting to form on his face. While Damian was aware that this took immense effort, he wasn't letting his brother off easy. He watched him take a few more steps with the rail; make it down two more stairs. All the while Damian moved backwards, examining each movement that his brother made. He could tell when Drake became discouraged, when the weight of his body would cloud his mind. Damian cut through his distraction with a firm, "Focus, Drake."

The older boy kept going, and he looked down over the other side of the rail. It was a long way down, Damian knew, and that knowledge seemed to catch up with Drake. Not in the way that Damian had expected, for his brother let go of the rail and stood without using it for support. The younger boy masked his surprise and watched as Drake descended. The first few paces went well, but then when he went to step down he fell, lurching forwards. Damian simply held out a hand and Drake's chest fell into it, but the boy didn't flinch.

Drake looked at him with slight astonishment, and Damian said, "Do not think about falling. Focus on walking."

Maybe it was in that moment, while Drake was suspended in midair and being held up only by Damian's hand that he realized just what this was all about.

Damian gave his older brother a small shove backwards, and Drake grabbed the rail to keep from tumbling backwards. For a moment the two boys locked eyes, and then Drake let go of the railing once more and kept on moving. All the way down the long staircase they went, Damian catching his brother when he fell and offering only a few short and stern words. Eventually as they neared the bottom Drake didn't fall as much, and though he was exerting a ton of energy he didn't backtrack when a mistake was made. Damian was almost proud.

When they reached the bottom, Drake stopped and grabbed a hold of the rail and leaned against it. Damian moved further into the cave and went and stood beside the computer, crossing his arms. At first Drake just looked at him, and then his determination appeared in his eyes. Understanding that if he could make it down the stairs, then he could walk on the smooth and flat floor seemed to pass over him. He let go of the rail and took a step forwards, and then very slowly began to walk towards the computer. Damian watched, keeping his expression blank.

Drake swayed but kept on going, stumbling once or twice. Then when the steps became smoother he quickened his pace. Before either of the boys knew it, Drake had made it to the computer, and then promptly collapsed into the chair. It spun around once he did, and the boy sat there catching his breath. Damian finally let his mask drop. "I see that logic has finally made its way through your thick skull."

"When your brother throws you down a staircase, it kind of hints that you need to man up," Drake admitted, and smiled sheepishly.

"I take pride in getting my point across," Damian said, stopping the chair from spinning with his foot. "I've succeeded again, not surprisingly."

"Yeah yeah I know," Drake said, "you were right and I was wrong. Thanks for being right."

The gratefulness was genuine, something that Damian had slowly gotten used to over the time that Drake had been ill. This experience had proven to him that showing gratitude didn't always have to be sarcastic; they actually could be honest with one another. But no matter what Drake was still an idiot, and Damian was still his little brat of a brother. He'd become completely fine with that.

Damian smirked, "Perhaps in the future we will graduate from staircases to bigger feats. I'll throw you from rooftops instead."

"At least wait until I'm back in costume," Drake bargained. "Considering my current state, there would be no surviving that."

"Let me say something that is totally Grayson-worthy," Damian said, "If you can believe it, you can achieve it."

Damian promptly pretended to gag, and Drake laughed. Then Damian joined in, and their rare laughter filled the cave. It must have been so strange of a sound that it drew Pennyworth to the cave, as he appeared in the doorway only a minute later. Damian looked up and saw the butler's expression; one of amazement. "Is everything alright, Master Damian?"

"As alright as Gotham usually is, Pennyworth," Damian replied as their laughter faded out.

"Indeed so," the butler agreed, and then looked to Drake, "Master Timothy, how did you get down there?"

The grin was so wide Damian thought that it would break his brother's face. "I walked, Alfred."

There was no denying how Pennyworth's face brightened at the report. "Wonderful! Tonight we should celebrate."

Damian snorted, "Yes, the toddler has taken his first steps again. Let us all lose our heads over it."

"Thanks for the encouragement, Damian," his brother said. And then their characteristic sarcasm returned as he added, "Throw me down the stairs more often why don't you."

Damian smirked, "I may just take up that offer, Drake."


End file.
